


Lacrimosa

by tolakasa



Series: This Christmas Day 'verse [15]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Disabled Dean Winchester, POV Original Character, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-03-31 23:19:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3997000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tolakasa/pseuds/tolakasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannah never had gotten the knack of these things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lacrimosa

The news wasn't unexpected.

Allene Reynolds had lived a good life. A _long_ life, nearly a full century, and she'd been healthy and active right up until the morning when she just didn't wake up. She'd seen enough messy death in her time—hunters just did—that it was probably the way she wanted to go.

Fortunately, there wasn't much to do in terms of arrangements, nothing that Dad couldn't handle with Mama's help. Most of it had been dealt with ages ago, when Junior died. What little help they needed, Mike and Janet were providing, and that was mostly with finding someone reliable to keep an eye on the kids during the visitation—no point in having fifty bored pre-teens chasing each other around the funeral home—and the very small children during the funeral.

Hannah, as the baby of the family, really had nothing to do except show up. Well, she had to buy a good funeral dress, because she had absolutely _nothing_ appropriate to wear. The last actual dress she'd bought had been the bridesmaid dress from Marcy's wedding. When she'd been impersonating professionals on the hunt, she'd opted for slacks instead of skirts, and most of those were a little _too_ worn for this. There were certain expectations that had to be met. Not necessarily from her family, but from everybody who was going to be at this thing.

She refused to spend money on new shoes, though, and _especially_ not anything with heels. She was going to spend the bulk of the next two days on her feet, what with the visitation and the funeral. She didn't need blisters on top of everything else. She _cleaned_ her least-disreputable pair of shoes. Let the old biddies gossip. It wasn't like anybody who knew the family didn't already think she was a little nuts.

She sent out a mass text to the Reds—a lot of them on this side of the country had met Granny at least once, and though she doubted any of them would actually show up, there were other ways to pay one's respects. Cards, for those hunters that were still civilized; toasts, for those who clung to their liquor a little too tightly. And always the next hunt, saving another life in memory of someone who had saved lives. Granny might have been an amateur, but she'd been a _smart_ amateur. Her ability to recognize when she was out of her league and call somebody for help had gotten her a lot of respect. Too many hunters insisted on slogging on without help until the situation was ten times worse than it should have been.

Of course, the night of the visitation, when Hannah staggered into her apartment wanting nothing more than to be horizontal for awhile, she had a message waiting from Bryan. She spent half the night calling people, trying to get them to Georgia to help him out. He had every sign of a werewolf _pack_ , and it was only three days till the full moon. The last thing they needed was for werewolves to eat Dawsonville.

She drove to the church herself, rather than going over to her parents' to ride in the funeral limo as originally planned, Bret's trunk stuffed with silver bullets. If nobody else could help Bryan, she was going to have to go down there. If she was _very_ lucky, she could talk Firth or Mike into authorizing her use of the jet. As exhausted as she was, if she tried to drive....

She actually dozed off while sitting there in the room where the family was gathering. She only woke up when Janet gave her a gentle shake. "Hannah, it's almost time. You got your phone?"

"Um." She fumbled at her coat, and eventually came up with her cell. "Yeah."

"Give it here, we've got somebody corralling the phones."

"I'm expecting— There's a possible work situation."

Janet gave her a sharp look—everybody knew that Hannah didn't, technically, _have_ a job yet, but Janet, as one of the ones who worked in the company, knew all about the impending split of the Reds from the Blacks and the new position that would create. "We'll leave it on vibrate, and I'll tell him to come get you if there is." She gave Hannah the once-over. "Hang up your coat, okay?"

"Right." Too cold outside to not wear one, too warm inside to keep it on. Granny was going to be buried in the family cemetery tomorrow, so they weren't trekking to the cemetery immediately after and she wouldn't get bundled into somebody's car without it. She pulled it off and tossed it on the chair beside her, then stood up and stretched as unobtrusively as possible. She was lucky that Janet had even noticed that she was asleep. They could have gone into Mass without her, leaving her asleep on the chair, and she would _never_ have heard the end of it.

"Is everybody here?" somebody said, just enough to be heard over the voices. They immediately quieted. "Let's take a moment to say a private farewell to Allene before we begin the procession."

There was a subtle shifting of the crowd for the prayer. Everyone else was paired up or in a small knot, couples and siblings, parents and children. Firth was the only other adult here who wasn't also paired up, and Marcy had pulled him into the little grouping around her and Dean, clear across the room.

In the midst of all this familial love and grief, Hannah stood alone.

Her breath hitched, and the ache of tears, the one she'd managed to suppress for the last three days, started up deep in her throat. It was stupid, more bad timing than anything else, the one-two punch of exhaustion and grief. Her family loved her. This wasn't intentional.

But....

She'd been the family freak since she was seven. Half the extended family still didn't know what to make of her. Sean still didn't believe that there _were_ poltergeists, that it wasn't some kind of stunt for attention.

Granny had never once argued or ridiculed or done anything but try to make her life with the poltergeists easier. Granny had been the one who convinced Third and Anne to let her stay safely home, to not force her into an unprotected world, who'd had Uncle Paul come to the house to handle her catechism and rites of passage, who'd gone out and studied and learned what the hell was going on and how to handle it.

Granny had _believed_.

Well, screw it. She hadn't chosen to be a poltergeist magnet. She'd wanted nothing more than to be a normal little girl who could go to school and hang pictures on the wall without living in terror that the glass would be shattered into a thousand flying knives. Granny was the one who'd tried to give her that when everybody else thought her parents should just hire a shrink.

For Granny, she'd stand here and fight down the tears and show the rest of them that she didn't _need_ their belief. Or their approval.

And then an arm hesitantly went around her shoulders, like she had somebody to stand with, like she wasn't the family freak—

Tears stung her eyes at the kindness, enough that she had to take a second to get them under control. This close, she recognized the feel of a man's body, but couldn't immediately think of who it might be. One of the cousins?

Hannah got her sight cleared and turned to look—and had to adjust her gaze. None of the cousins were that tall.

Sam gave her a reassuring smile and a little squeeze, like he was her best friend instead of still practically a stranger, lending her that little bit of strength that she needed.

She didn't even know why he was in here and not already out in the church.

She didn't care.

 

***

 

Nick and Courtney's house was the location of the post-funeral gathering, rather than Dean and Marcy's, because they had a finished basement, which gave them about double the available square footage, and with a crowd this size, every square foot helped. Firth and Dean couldn't get into the basement, of course, but Firth didn't want to, and there were enough adults present that Dean didn't need to keep a personal eye on his brood. The kids' activity rooms were downstairs, so that was where most of the kids were congregating, and that was where Hannah found Sam, sitting on a battered sofa probably older than either one of them, keeping an eye on Ananda, Kara, Nyssa, and about half a dozen other little girls in that age group. He had an empty plate balanced on the arm of the sofa, a stuffed purple puppy in his lap, and a glittery pink tiara set at a jaunty tilt on his head.

She managed not to giggle, and resisted the urge to curtsy. "May I sit, your highness?"

"Huh? Oh, that." Sam reached up and jerked the tiara out of his hair. "They were fighting over it and that was the only way to keep it away from them. Sure, sit down."

She did. "No makeup?" she teased.

He grimaced. "I'm hoping Courtney hid it all. I told them I'd only help with the babysitting if she did."

Clearly Sam didn't know her big sister. She'd be surprised if the doll makeup had been so much as _moved_. "You brave, brave man."

He shrugged. "Dean asked if I would help. I overheard Marcy saying it was going to be a madhouse, and she was right." He shook his head. "How many people do you guys _know?_ "

"Most of the ones here are relatives, actually. The friends and church people and business contacts just came to the visitation."

"You're _kidding_."

"Nope. Some are pretty distant, but still relatives."

"Good God," he groaned.

She laughed. "Yeah, we can be a bit of a shock if you're not used to— _Caitlyn!_ Barbies are not weapons!"

Caitlyn froze, a brunette doll raised and poised for a painful introduction to Lori's head, and gave her a sullen green-hazel glare. "But—"

"I don't _care_. Behave or go play with something else, or I _will_ get your mothers down here."

Caitlyn scowled, but dropped the Barbie into the pile and stalked across the room to the Legos. Aaron and Luke started to protest, but one glare shut them up. There were plenty of Legos to go around; every kid in here could build a castle and barely touch that supply.

"Thanks," Sam said, relief in his voice. "She wouldn't listen to me."

"Caitlyn's a little stubborn. Kinda like her—" Did he know? Better not take the chance. "Like Ally. It takes a while to get the right tone. Stick around, you'll pick it up."

"Oh, joy."

That made her chuckle. Except for a few false starts, Dean had jumped right in with their family, not even blinking, no matter how many cousins they threw at him. Sam seemed a little more.... Reserved? Sane? One of those adjectives that never applied to Reynoldses, anyway. She was surprised he'd lasted this long. "You know, earlier— I— At the— I mean—" Sam just sat there, looking at her, and she gave up. "Thank you. For— Thanks."

She expected something flippant. He was Dean's brother, after all, and if she'd learned anything from that day he'd spent putting in wards at her apartment, or on their trip to the Hall of Fame, it was that he had quite the handle on snark. Maybe not quite as sharp as Dean's, a touch more intellectual, but still, there was a well-trained smartass in there.

Instead, what she got was a little half-smile and a very sincere expression that made him look like an overly large puppy. It was oddly endearing. And a little bit attractive. "You looked like you needed it."

"I did," she admitted. "It—hit me a little harder than I expected." Something occurred to her. "What were you doing there, anyway? In the family room, I mean?"

"I was appointed keeper of the cell phones. For the people who might have emergencies, anyway." He reached into a pocket, pulled out a phone—then frowned at it, stuffed it back in, and reached into another pocket. "Sorry, Dean and Marcy haven't reclaimed theirs yet. Firth and Mike did. Everybody else left them in the car, I think." He handed it over. "I was coming in because you got a text that said 911. Sorry, I had to read it to see if it was worth intruding."

She managed not to flinch. "From Bryan?" Bryan would only be texting her today if he'd gotten absolutely no help.

"I think that's what the caller ID said. I figured it was important, but I went in there, and you just looked so—lost. And then it was the funeral itself, and I thought— Dean and I never knew our grandparents, but when Dad died, we at least took the time to do _something_ , even if it was just a pyre. It's important. Plus—" He hesitated, and wouldn't quite meet her eyes. "I've been there," he said, very quietly. "The odd one out, I mean. The— The freak."

She stared at him. "How did you know I was thinking that?"

One side of his mouth quirked up. "I told you. I've been there. You're a poltergeist magnet. I'm—um— A demon tried to lay a claim on me."

" _The_ demon? The one you guys killed?" 

"Yeah. I used to have visions, but they vanished when it died. I still have things fly around the room sometimes." He forced a smile. "Jade doesn't work on me, though."

She knew there had been weirdness surrounding the demon and the Winchesters, but no one had mentioned that he'd gotten _powers_ out of it. Marcy had said something once about Dean having some kind of visions, but Hannah didn't remember hearing anything about Sam. "Like Kara?" He nodded. "Shit."

Sam's eyes darted sideways, but the girls were too involved in Barbie Wars to have heard her slip. "I can keep it under control most of the time. I don't miss the visions at _all_ , though."

"See, those sound useful."

"Not as much as you'd think," he said sourly. "It was like having lightning strike my head, and they were always related to the— Um. Hi there."

"Sit _still_ ," Nyssa ordered imperiously before climbing into his lap, claiming the purple puppy. She fell asleep as soon as she quit moving.

"Yes, ma'am." Sam sighed and shifted her weight a bit. Hannah choked down laughter. "She didn't get a lot of sleep last night," he explained, and sounded charmingly embarrassed about it. "None of us did."

"Nightmares?"

He nodded. "Half the house. The ones that weren't dreaming about—um—you know—" She nodded. "—were dreaming about funerals. Including Dean, I think, but he won't admit it."

"And Marcy wouldn't tell _you_ if he did." She grinned, and he made a face at her.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket. Bryan must be getting antsy. "Dammit, I gotta get this."

"That important?"

"Possibly life or death." She called up the message. _Frank here still 911 help._

Sam was frowning at her. "In the hotel business?"

"It's not—" Wait. Sam was the one who was so anti-hunting, and she couldn't handle a lecture right now. "It's a sort of side business we do. Something Granny started, actually." She sent a quick message to Bryan. "And now I get to go to Georgia."

"Are you safe to drive?"

"I'm going to beg Firth to let me borrow the jet and a pilot." She sighed, and pushed herself to her feet. "Want me to take Dean and Marcy their phones?"

"I'm not getting up any time soon." He handed them over. "Have fun in Georgia."

"Oh, I'm sure." Werewolves and rednecks and rednecks made into werewolves, her least favorite combination.

She hesitated. She wanted to say something profound and grateful as a final thank-you, to let him know how much she really had appreciated it.

However, her brain had other ideas, because what came out was: "Would you like to go to dinner? With me? Not tonight, obviously, but—"

He eyed her suspiciously. "This isn't going to be like the Hall of Fame thing, is it? Because— Well, it was an adventure, but I try to limit my adventures these days. I get enough with these guys." He indicated Nyssa.

"Adventure-free, I promise." She grinned. "I'll even get you back early enough that Dean and Marcy won't be making out on the couch."

Sam groaned. "Heard about that, did you?"

"It took Marcy awhile to quit giggling, but eventually she got the story out." The phone vibrated again. "Fucking hell, Bryan, I'm _coming_." She threaded her way around Ananda and Kara's doll-fort, trying not to obliterate an innocent Ken doll.

"Hey, Hannah?" Sam said, stopping her in her tracks. There was an expression on his face that she couldn't quite read, but she _thought_ there was a little bit of a smile in it, rather than a smirk. "Earlier— I wouldn't have done that for just _any_ in-law. Just so you know."

She blinked—and blinked again once the implications hit her, and then smiled, a _real_ smile, like she hadn't expected to have at all today. "I'll keep that in mind."

 

***

 

Marcy collapsed into bed, practically landing on him, which told Dean just how exhausted she had to be. _I hope everybody sleeps tonight_ , he thought. Another round of nightmares like last night, and the whole house might go crazy. And it wasn't like they were sane to start with.

"Don't wake me up till April," Marcy said into her pillow.

"I'll see what I can do." Dean reached across her to her side of the bed to snag her cell phone and turn it off—and then, just to be sure, stuffed it in his nightstand. If he'd hit the wrong button, and Sean was stupid enough to call her at the crack of dawn, Dean was going to be the one who read him the riot act.

As he did, his phone beeped at him. He must have missed a call during the bedtime roundup, but who would be calling this late? Emergencies would justify calling the landline. "Why would Hannah be calling me?" he asked, dialing his voice mail.

"No idea," Marcy said, rolling onto her side. "Mike said she was on her way to Atlanta in the jet, she wasn't safe to drive. Something about werewolves in Dawsonville."

"Werewolves? Plural?"

She shrugged. "Probably just drunk Elliott fans who forgot to shave once hunting season— What is it?"

Dean pulled the phone away from his ear. "You have _got_ to hear this."

"The message?" She pushed herself up. "Is something wrong?"

"That—um—depends."

He pressed 4 and the speakerphone button, and Hannah's voice came out of the speaker. "Dean, this is Hannah. I. Um. Well. It— I—" There was an audible deep breath, then, in a nearly unintelligible rush: "IkindasortaaskedSamoutandIjustrealizedIdon'tknowwhathelikesandifyoucouldgivemesomeideasI'dreallyappreciateit. Um. So. Yeah. Thanks."

Marcy just stared at the phone's screen, as if an explanation for this madness would suddenly appear there. "Oh. My. _God_ ," she finally managed. "I can't believe—" She fell against him, laughing so hard she could barely breathe. "At—a— _funeral?_ "

" _That's_ what bothers you? Not the fact that your sister just asked my brother out on a date?"

"I'm sure she'll be gentle with him." Dean snorted. "Besides, they both survived Christmas and the Hall of Fame. And that day he went to finish the wards." She frowned. "Come to think of it—"

"No," he said. "No pushing. Let 'em figure it out on their own."

Marcy's eyes narrowed. "Is this that thing you kinda sorta maybe saw?"

"The kinda sorta is a little bit more maybe."

"That's all you're going to give me?"

"Yep."

"Ass."

"Yep." He stuck his phone in the drawer with hers and settled into bed. "You know what's _really_ wrong with this?"

Marcy pulled the covers up and curled up beside him. "Beyond my little sister asking your little brother out at my grandmother's funeral? Can there actually _be_ more?"

Dean ignored the question. "She's asking the wrong person. How the hell would _I_ know what kind of date Sam likes?"

This time, he was pretty sure that Marcy was going to laugh until lack of oxygen made her pass out.


End file.
